


The Letter

by Guardian_Leonhart_Strife



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26825923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Leonhart_Strife/pseuds/Guardian_Leonhart_Strife
Summary: A brief one-shot about Sephiroth finding himself in a strange place and witnessing strange things that escalate the longer he's forced to be there. A.K.A. Cloud writes a letter.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, it's been a while since I've managed to post anything. I'm excited to have something finished finally! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for stopping by.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story. The characters are property of Square Enix.

Sephiroth stood in the center of warmth and love. He was unfamiliar with either feeling, but noticed how something had managed to seep inside and quiet the turmoil trapped within him. He didn’t know where he was or, better yet, _how_ he was here, but something in the way the surroundings touched him so deeply left his mind open and his thoughts began to clear.  


He was inside a building of some kind. There were old pews, some of them broken and most worn past the point of safely being used. They were shoved out of alignment, either intentionally or from a skirmish; possibly the force of something being thrown from one end of the vast open room to the other. A shoddy ceiling stretched high above his head with patchwork repairs which did not match the original roof that the structure was built with. A gaping hole poured sunlight down onto a shallow pool of water near where Sephiroth stood, the edges of it lined with crumbling floorboards. Contained within were numerous flowers; delicate petals glittering where they breached the surface and were exposed. Bright light from above was catching where water clung to each bud and bloom. His eyes were drawn to them, slowly raising up the length of a familiar blade jutting out from the saturated soil at the far end.  


The sight of the Buster Sword brought both an ache twisting deeply in Sephiroth’s chest and an abrupt scraping sound behind where he focused. As if glimpsing the blade could summon the man who once wielded it. Sephiroth turned, finding the last person he wished to see hesitating a few feet away from the main entrance. The name Cloud Strife was wrapped in bitterness, and came to Sephiroth before he had looked toward the sound of the interruption. Piercing eyes remained glued to his boots, peaks of wild blond hair were all that met Sephiroth’s narrowed glare. The absence of the younger man’s focus was off putting; Sephiroth had always demanded Strife’s full attention by his mere presence alone. He remained as silent and still as the building’s interior, emanating all the mutual hatred and anger Strife held toward him.  


Cloud took a short bated breath, then another. Something was clenched tightly in one of his gloved fists, trembling with the unnecessary strength he was using to keep hold of it. Whatever it was, it was small and thin, made frail beneath the young man’s overbearing grasp. Sephiroth felt the atmosphere spike with tension, unease permeating from them both at the same time. His eyes were locked to where the gaze that avoided him was, waiting for that steadying breath to slip out before both glares finally met. Instead something unexpected happened, leaving Sephiroth to do nothing but blink in confusion. One second Strife was standing near the misaligned doors warped by age, then by the next that sliver of daylight through the seam was widened, a silhouette of Strife dropping down unseen steps as the heavy door creaked closed behind him.  


Cloud had left.  


“This again,” Sephiroth muttered out loud. His stance went slack, fingers reaching up to pinch between his eyes instinctually. The outward display of his hostility melted away, his simmering temper threatening to bring about a migraine that would be impossible for him to ever experience as he was now. Old habits. How many times was he expected to endure this? How often would he be led to believe another chance to return was being given, only to find himself immobilized near his enemy to witness more of the young man’s frivolous actions?  


This had happened more times than Sephiroth cared to count, and, needless to say he was tired of it. Floating through the lifestream, while painful and distressing, paled in comparison to being drawn to the younger man’s side at seemingly random unimportant moments in his life. Times when Strife was lost somewhere in the world and felt compelled to unleash emotions he could no longer contain in the dead of night. His arms would clench tightly around himself while he naively believed that the tears flowing down his cheeks were well hidden in the shadows surrounding him. There were times Sephiroth watched him in the throws of meaningless empty passion with a faceless stranger, when those venomous scornful eyes lost their sharpness as they met Sephiroth’s blank stare across the room.  


He was forced to look on while his greatest enemy led a meaningless life; made to witness his own sworn promises come true. Sephiroth would never become a memory. It was a looming threat planted in the boy’s mind to imply that he would one day return when Strife least expected it. It seemed, however, the more he continued to experience these brief moments in time, the more it proved Cloud Strife no longer thought of Sephiroth at all. He was comfortable enough to let down his guard and weep for what all was lost, and confident enough in his freedom from beneath the weight of Sephiroth’s threats to lie with strangers and unwind.  


And now… he was here. No, _they_ were here.  


Sephiroth dropped the fingers from his face, casting his eyes around the strangely calm room yet again. What might he be compelled to observe this time, he wondered, while also pondering how long it would take for Strife to return. He still stood rooted in place, not plucked out of the serenity to lose awareness in a sea of bluish green. So it wasn’t finished, whatever it was he was expected to see. His gaze shifted absently back onto the abandoned blade at the other end of the shallow pool. He spotted rust crawling along the dulled edges from where he stood, countless knicks tarnishing what used to be a well-maintained weapon in the past. Thoughts of his friend Angeal tending to the blade flooded his mind, stern features etched deeply with focus as he sharpened and polished it with such fondness.  


Sephiroth was pulled from the past as the weighted doors groaned again in protest. Strife entered a little more suredly, managing a handful of steps inside before his feet started to falter. Sephiroth studied him with ire, reserved in the knowledge that this whole experience wouldn’t be completed anytime soon. Cloud’s hands rose hesitantly, whatever was previously in his fist now clasped between both of his palms. He took on the visage of someone about to recite their prayers, something Sephiroth had the strongest urge to mock. Cloud’s eyes were locked on the blade he’d abandoned here, a shudder seeming to run its course through his form while he stared at it sorrowfully. He took a cautious step closer, hands pressed so tightly together the veins in his arms protruded from his pale skin. Another step was taken, Strife’s breaths coming out as short pants.  


He then let out the longest sigh, head dropping forward and shoulders sinking from the effect. Sephiroth’s brow pinched, unable to understand what was so difficult about this situation. Strife didn’t know he was here, just like any other time he ended up being summoned. He had tried to communicate with the man several times before, but never made any progress in his efforts. It was like he was brought back to linger silently at the edges of Strife’s existence and nothing more. Still it was odd how the younger man was behaving, even in this place; somewhere secluded from all who know him. He held himself together in the public eye, and at times even more so when surrounded by those who he’d grown closest to over the years. At the farthest corners of the world, tucked out of sight was where he’d felt it was safe to let that facade crack, but only to himself; not in buildings or structures such as this, where someone might wander in unexpectedly at any moment.  


Strife’s gaze rose from the floorboards, looking toward the bathing flowers. He huffed a steadying breath, hands splitting apart while the corner of his lips quirked. The item he held was shoved carelessly into his pocket as he stalked forward, letting his gaze drift along all the colors in the water. Sephiroth bristled when Cloud approached, unsure what would happen should they touch or if he attempted to pass through his form. Strife moved to stand a couple feet away, in front of Sephiroth, the curl to his lips growing as he studied the water’s surface.  


“Hey,” he greeted quietly, his tone calm and voice kept low as though too much volume might disturb the building’s tranquility. Cloud dropped slowly down to his knees, testing his weight gingerly at the cracked edges. Once situated he drew a deep breath, his palms resting on his thighs. “I needed your help, Aer. It just… it seemed like the right place to do this, y’know?” Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at Cloud, noticing the slight tremble to his words. Cloud struggled to look up at the Buster Sword a few times, but he eventually managed. Creases marred his forehead as he fought to look at the weapon, slowly smoothing away the longer he stared.  


He carried on, handing out apologies left and right for taking so long to return and for not being around for the upkeep of the precious growth. The word ‘maintenance’ dangled at the tip of his tongue, but eyes flicking over to the blade’s corroded surface quickly changed what he dared to mutter aloud. Sephiroth felt compelled to listen more to the whispers of the one-sided conversation in the hopes of learning what reasons there were for his being brought here. His thoughts fogged over; his mind’s incessant buzzing fading away while he studied the other man more closely.  


It was the most peaceful Sephiroth had ever seen the other man appear to be. Skin crinkled around his eyes when he smiled, lips upturned with every muted word Sephiroth failed to hear. The gloves were pulled off and shoved into a back pocket while he stooped, pale fingers cupping and caressing the petals as more apologies and confessions spilled out of him. Sephiroth was witnessing Cloud speak more than he thought was possible; expressing thoughts and feelings he never knew the younger man possessed. And he missed it all, too busy regarding what Cloud Strife had become.  


Sephiroth found himself wondering who this man was. What had he missed in the time he wasn’t brought to Strife’s side? He’d seen the cold and ruthless fighter dredging up every ounce of rejected, unwanted strength to ruin Sephiroth’s plans. He’d seen the man’s weakness against bearing the weight of his life’s choices, and how he became a pliant husk of a human when Sephiroth forcefully compelled him to do his bidding. These strange viewings of Strife when he was unaware Sephiroth was near showed much of the same; a weak and battered man unable to accept the repercussions of those choices.  


To find a calm disposition coming over him? A fleeting moment when the weight of his own decisions was lifted from his shoulders? There were tender smiles, the bright violent mako in his eyes abated enough for a deep ocean blue to surround his relaxed irises. He didn’t flick his glare to every corner or scan the entirety of his surroundings to strategize. His gaze was open and honest, staring languidly down at the flowers to which he was speaking so softly.  


Sephiroth stirred from his confusion once Cloud let out another long sigh. His fingers vanished in the folds of his clothing, pulling out the crumpled item he’d been desperately clutching just before. “Guess I should… get to it," Strife mumbled hesitantly, both hands pinching the edges of what he withdrew.  


It was paper, folded over several times to make it small enough to hide. There were multiple pages based on the thickness of the small square, with wrinkles and smudges scattered over what little was seen, showing Strife had held onto these pages for quite some time. He stood on his feet slowly, fingers deftly unwrapping what was concealed within. The creases opened with an ease that came from being folded and unfolded repeatedly. Sephiroth glimpsed at what he could before Strife turned away, pacing along the edges of the pool while looking it over himself. He didn’t see much, but he did notice there were words, and how at least three different writing utensils were used: pencil before the lead snapped, a black pen and a blue pen scrawling onwards where the black ink faded.  


Strife rubbed one hand through his hair, dropping the other which caused the pages to slap against his leg. He shook his head slowly, nervousness crawling over his features and his stance. He gazed blankly toward the water’s surface, a smile creeping along his lips as the moments passed. Sephiroth furrowed his brow. When Strife huffed in amusement, his eyes widened.  


“Don’t laugh, ‘k?” The pages unfurled, his hand lifting to bring the words up to his eyes once more. With a swallow, adam’s apple bobbing as visible proof, he finally began reading the first line.  


“I… I wish I had known you.” Sephiroth frowned, following the pages as they dropped to Strife’s side again. “This is so stupid,” the other man grumbled, tilting his head back and clenching his eyes closed. The faintest hint of color had crept into Cloud’s features, mostly his cheeks, but began fading over time while he held the unusually vulnerable pose. His chest rose and lowered with steady breathing, a familiar pattern to Sephiroth when he’d need to calm his frayed nerves or his growing temper. In through the nose, slowly out through the mouth, then repeat. He wondered if Strife was counting numbers in his mind as well. “Whatever,” Cloud blurted, dropping his head back down and rolling his shoulders to alleviate the tension steadily coiling up in his upper body. He cleared his throat roughly and brought the pages back up to his vision, determination overcoming him as he glared down at letters and words.  


“I wish I had known you. Actually known you, not,” he sighed, “...not what got jumbled up in my head from Hojo.” Both men narrowed their eyes at the mentioned name. Strife’s gaze slid ahead of where he paced, eyes landing on the Buster Sword’s hilt. “I wish I had actually known you,” he whispered, low and quiet but loud enough to catch Sephiroth’s ear. Sephiroth’s throat clenched, making him swallow, eyes snapping over to the object of Strife’s intent. Gritting his teeth his anger bubbled, realization coming to him like a slap in the face. Strife had written something for Fair in the quiet fleeting moments he was truly left alone, even from him.  


And now he had to endure hearing the anxiously sputtered words; words meant for the better man, yet he was the one who was forced to listen.  


Sephiroth’s teeth unclenched and he tilted his head, his brow pinched. “The better man?” he questioned himself aloud.  


What once thrummed in Sephiroth’s veins and buzzed through his mind, fuelling him forward for his people, his birthright, his ...Mother... was now gone like a distant memory of a life long since passed. A deep-seeded part of him brought about the endless noise that clouded his thoughts and darkened his heart. Something was deafening his senses to it here. It came from the place where he stood; the ground beneath his feet or possibly the floral-scented air. There was a palpable aura between these walls, one that was familiar at the borders of his newly unburdened memories. It was staggering, not only to have thoughts of his own come to the forefront of his mind but also without sneering questions or withering disapproval. The feeling became literal when he pondered how he came to this sudden revelation.  


Sephiroth swayed in place, memories of what came to pass crashing into him. Years loaded with the burden of countless souls he’d cast aside, ruining lives blindly at every turn for the sake of something foreign fused within him. His pulse drummed loudly between his ears, muffling the specifics of what Cloud was admitting. The tone of his voice drifted around the back of Sephiroth’s mind as he spiralled. “What is this?” Sephiroth questioned harshly, struggling to regain self-control. He was not one to blindly accept this shift in his being. It took years for him to finally recognize the whispers winding through his thoughts held truth. He was being torn apart; a life’s worth of experience ripping him in one direction and an unnerving warmth from the atmosphere coaxing him gently in another.  


Fingertips rubbing along the sword’s gritty imperfections grated against Sephiroth’s ears. The sound pierced through his reeling subconscious, pulling him back to the present to continue witnessing what he was here for. Cloud’s fingers slid carefully back up to the hilt, a deep admiration emanating through him. Calluses wrapped around the worn leather, slowly turning the digits white the tighter he gripped it. Sephiroth watched in wonder, waiting for his arm to raise and the blade to be pulled free in a heroic pose. Color returned to his fist bit by bit, his hand releasing the hilt eventually with a timid smile. He gripped the blade’s cross guard in a bracing manner, a slow breath inhaled and held. His hand patted the weapon twice, then he let it slip off the edge and return to his side.  


“So many stories about you… so many memories, all floating around in here,” Strife murmured, tapping one of his fingers against his temple. “Which ones were mine and which ones were yours, hm?”  


Sephiroth felt something shift; a change, a difference resonating with the other’s tone. Then warmth overwhelmed him, consuming him internally until his knees were weak and his jaw went slack. All he could do was gasp, completely helpless as he was overpowered. Instinct left him spreading his fingers, lifting his palms at his sides in blinded reverence. His legs buckled, knees slamming down against the floorboards. Sephiroth’s breath hitched as he stared wide-eyed at the figure dropping lower and vanishing on the other side of the sword. The blade tilted toward him when Cloud sat down, leaning his back against the tarnished steel. From this angle Sephiroth could see the pages unfold again in the hand resting on an outstretched leg.  


“I wish I knew the real you; the one people looked up to and admired, the one everyone loved and respected.” Sephiroth’s eyes fluttered closed when he gulped, reserved in his fate to be forced to listen. No longer able to withdraw into his own thoughts, he was being made to hear every quiet word Cloud professed to his true hero; to the only man who deserved to never become a mere memory. “The one… the one… I… loved.” A huff quickly followed the shy admittance, pages dropping to land on top of Cloud’s knee. He lifted his hand out of Sephiroth’s view, his elbow peeking out from around the wide blade. He must've been rubbing his face or covering his eyes out of embarrassment. Then Sephiroth heard the hushed sobs. Short, sharp breaths that were exhaled with a quiver, the limb in his vision shaking from the effort. Sephiroth felt his heart swell and shatter. Cloud’s pain was substantial enough for him to share, either through their connection or from the crushing ambiance pinning him down.  


“What am I doing?” Cloud asked himself harshly. “Why am I doing this, it doesn’t-” he snorted, the small laugh tinged with bitterness. “It doesn’t fucking matter.” He rubbed his palm roughly across his eyes and rose from the ground. The letter was crumpled in his fist, an angry tear-stained glare looking pointedly toward the shallow pool. He turned his eyes away, refusing to angle his fury toward such peace. “Not anymore,” he hissed, finishing his statement. Pressed down on his knees, Sephiroth gaped at the scene. Cloud stormed forward, the letter twisting between his tightening fingers. He jerked his arm out, throwing the crinkled pages forcefully toward the shallow pool, glaring heatedly at them as they fluttered lazily down to the water’s surface. Rings rippled out from where the disturbance landed, but smoothed and settled into clear glass as the seconds ticked past. 

Cloud scraped the back of his hand beneath his nose, blinking back tears he refused to let loose.

“Sephiroth’s never gonna hear it anyways.”

A shuddered breath slipped through Sephiroth’s lips, his stunned gaze trailing the man’s path as he made a hasty, anguished exit, and left everything behind.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try and post more regularly, but we'll see how far I manage to go. There's tons of ideas floating around in my mind constantly, it'd be nice to finally put those ideas to words and get them out in the world to share. Thanks again for reading.


End file.
